Sinking One's Teeth Into It
by Bartlebead
Summary: Sam told Dean he'd be sorry if he kept eating those damn Atomic Fire Balls. Did Dean listen to good advice? Do you need to ask? Rated T for Dean's awful language.


Sam woke up in the car, between nowhere and nowhere else, the unremarkable scenery passing by the window at about 75 miles an hour. The Midwest looked much the same for at least 500 miles, and he couldn't tell where they were relative to Sanderburg, Illinois, where they were headed for a job.

Yawning, he straightened out in the seat and looked over at Dean, who was still looking chipper, tapping the steering wheel to something egregious by MegaDeth, his newest pre-owned tape. Sam thought wistfully of Bela Fleck or Mountain Heart, and thought he'd probably even be feeling kindly toward Metallica by time they reached their destination.

"Where are we?" he asked, stretching as much as he could.

"Iowa," Dean said. "Home of flatness and not a lot else. But, hey, it's springtime, the weather's fine, and we're making great time. Revenant isn't even due to rise for a week, so upshot is, we're good!" He looked over at Sam and smiled.

Sam blinked. "Dude, what's with your teeth? You eating something weird?" Dean's teeth were _red_.

Dean grinned even wider. "Yeah, they're called 'atomic fireballs.' Don't you remember 'em? We used to get 'em sometimes at a gas station when we were kids. They're great! Hot as hell, good for keeping you awake when you're driving. Want one?" He opened his mouth so Sam could see the red candy held between Dean's upper and lower teeth.

Sam squinted at him. "No way, man. Jawbreakers'll really do that, y'know? They'll _break_ your _jaw_, or at least your teeth." He shuddered. "Waaaaay too much sugar, Dean. You shouldn't eat them either."

"Aw, Sam, you're such a spoilsport," said Dean, shaking his head. "If you change your mind, I've got a whole bag in the back. Got a pound of 'em at that last Stuckey's we stopped at." He made a gross sucking sound around the candy, and Sam rolled his eyes. Dean laughed and turned up MegaDeth. With a groan, Sam turned to stare out his window for a while.

About an hour and a half later, around 5:00, they reached Sanderburg, a decent-sized town not too far off the Quad Cities. They found a motel without much difficulty, got their room keys and were sorted out in no time.

"Right," said Dean. "We're set for a couple of days. Revenant's due on … Thursday, right?"

"Yeah, that was what we came up with. So we've got a couple of days to hang out, do nothing in particular. Sounds good. I'll check out the library."

"Sounds delightful, geekoid. What do you wanna do now? You hungry?"

"Yeah, I'd be happy to find some dinner," Sam said. "I wouldn't mind some pasta. You?"

"Sure, sounds good," said Dean, shrugging his shoulders.

Sam called the front desk and asked for recommendations. "Okay, let's head out! There's an okay place, he says, right up the street a couple of miles."

They headed back out to the Impala and got in. Dean reached over into the back and pulled a bag up from the seat. Opening the bag, he said, "One of my new atomic buddies for the road!" He popped it into his mouth and inserted the key in the ignition.

Sam said sorrowfully, "Man, you are going to be so sorry. Can't you just wait? We're going to eat in, like, ten minutes."

"Ibhuggryn thisadobicfiball's good!" said Dean.

Sam bagged it. Dean _was_ going to be sorry. He knew it. With a sigh, he resolved not to say anything more about it.

This lasted until dinner arrived at their table. To get to the food, Dean actually _chewed_ his latest atomic fireball, with all the horrible concomitant sounds Sam had tried not to imagine.

"Jesus, man, just spit the thing out! You don't have to _eat_ it!" he said. "That's disgusting!" Sam was aghast.

"Ah, shut up, Sam," Dean said, when his mouth was again available for speech.

"Fine, Dean. I won't say another thing about your damn candy and your rotting teeth until I get to say 'I told you so,'" said Sam. He reached for the garlic bread. "And I will, you know."

"Thought I said, 'Shut up, Sam,'" Dean said, mildly. "Oh, yeah. I did, y'know."

They ate with no further discussion of atomic fireballs, and the drive back to the motel was uneventful, if somewhat crunchy.

After a couple hours of watching TV (Dean) and reading the newest Stieg Larsson (Sam), they went out for a drink or two. Since they were sort of on vacation, what with being early for the job, they were both relatively relaxed. The bar was quiet, it being a Monday night, so there was a dearth of pretty girls and no one – literally no one – was playing pool but the two brothers. Around 1:00, Dean drank down his last dram and, placing his glass heavily on the table, said to Sam, "I think that's it for me. Time t'sack out 'n' get my beauty sleep."

"Me, too," said Sam. "Let's get back to the motel. We've got cable, maybe I can catch a rerun of Jon Stewart." He watched Dean roll his eyes, and laughed. "Nah," Sam said. "I think I'll just go to sleep. Might as well while we've got the chance."

The next day came and the brothers rolled through it, pretty much doing what each of them felt like. Another nice day with – amazingly – nothing to do, dangerous or otherwise. The only thing that marred it, as far as Sam was concerned, was those damn atomic fireballs. Every time he looked around, it seemed, Dean was obscenely sucking on one, leaving his teeth that disconcerting red, or chewing one to bits, which made Sam's own teeth hurt. Sam said nothing; at this point it would just encourage Dean to eat more of the things.

That night, though, on the way back to the motel from the bar, Dean was crunching away. Then, silence. Sam, who'd been clenching his own teeth, said tentatively, "Dean?"

"Oh, shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit!"

"What's up, Dean?" Sam peered over at his brother.

He could see him in the light of the nearly full moon, his grimace of pain and, yes, of betrayal. This had been bound to happen, Sam thought. And, yep, here it came.

"Shit! This _fucking hurts_! I think I broke a tooth, dammit!"

"Really, Dean? Really?" asked Sam, without surprise. "I'm sorry to hear it, but Jesus, Dean, I fucking told you so, didn't I?" Sam didn't laugh, and he knew it must hurt, but man, was he enjoying this? Yes, he _was_ enjoying this.

"It hurts like hell, Sam. Do you think it'll stop hurting? We don't have time to fuck around with teeth!"

"Oooh, yes, we do, Dean. We've got to find you a dentist, soon, or it'll hurt even more than it does now. It'll get infected, and there'll be pus, and your face will swell up, and it'll go to your brain."

Dean looked at him in horror. He swallowed. Sam could hear him swallow. It was like on one of those cartoons. He could almost see a thought-cloud above Dean's head, with the word, "GULP," in big-ass capital letters. Maybe, Sam thought, he'd laid it on a little thick.

"Fuck that," Dean muttered, and jammed the key in violently, and pulled out of the bar lot with the shriek of rubber.

The next morning Sam woke up to find Dean already awake, sitting tensely in the generic lounge chair holding a plastic bag of ice onto his jaw. There was a motel pot of coffee sitting next to him on the generic desk, and Dean appeared to be trying to drink hot coffee while icing. Bet that worked, Sam thought, but Dean looked so glum Sam started to feel sorry for him despite himself.

Sam silently got up, washed, dressed, got himself a cup of coffee. The whole time Dean said nothing. He said so much of nothing that Sam caught himself beginning to feel guilty, as if this had been _his_ fault. I mean, _shit_, Sam thought, I _told_ him he was gonna be sorry. Finally, he sat down on the desk chair, turning it toward poor, sad, tooth-achy Dean, and said, "Well, man, what are we going to do about you?"

Dean shook his head. "I dunno. I never even had a cavity before. Which I know," he said, starting to gear up, "you're gonna say is bullshit, 'cause I've been eating candy my whole freakin' life. But this's never happened before!" He looked pitifully at Sam. "I mean, how could I know it was goin' to happen now when it's never happened before? A man's gotta be able to trust his _teeth_, for Chrissake!"

It was like Sam had never said, "Stop eating the atomic fireballs, Dean. You'll be sorry." But Sam sighed. Of course this was the way it would be. He sighed again, for dramatic effect.

"You're going to a dentist. But we have to find a _good_ dentist." Sam tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. "I'll call Bobby and see if he can dig up a name for us. Thank god this is a decent-sized town, Dean, or you'd be fucked," he said.

"A dentist?" Dean's voice cracked. Sam looked up, startled. A bad thought began to niggle its way into Sam's consciousness.

"You've _been_ to a dentist, right?" Actually, he didn't remember Dean ever going to a dentist, even when Sam did, when they were kids.

Dean glowered. "Yeah, I've been to a dentist." He muttered something else under his breath.

"What? What did you say?" asked Sam. The bad thought was definitely making itself felt.

Dean looked at a fingernail. "I said," he said hoarsely, "I went once. It was … it was … pure hell, Sam. I mean it. The guy was a dick. His nurse or whatever was a dick too. Even the _receptionist_ was a dick. I mean, gettin' your teeth cleaned isn't supposed to hurt like a sonofabitch, is it?" He looked up. "Anyway. I haven't had any reason to see a dentist since then."

Sam decided to face it. His over-protective, ferocious, monster-hunting big brother was afraid of the dentist.

Great.

Sam put his face in his hands. After a moment, he got up and went over to his jacket to get his phone.

"Bobby."

…

"Yeah, it's me. Sam."

…

"No, no, it's not that bad," Sam turned around so he couldn't see Dean gesturing all sorts of "yes, it is, this really sucks, dude, what the hell, blah blah obscenity obscenity blah blah…" at him.

"Dean was eating this stupid jawbreaker… No, not one … a whole damn bag of 'em."

…

"Well, now he needs a dentist. No, can't wait; he broke a tooth on one and he's … like _dying_ here…" He raised his eyebrows at Dean: _Okay, you happy now? I let him know you're in agony. _"We're in Sanderburg, waiting on a job that'll materialize" – Sam laughed at his pun, despite the outraged snarl from the other side of the motel room – "in a couple days."

…

"Okay. Great. Talk to you soon." He hung up and turned back to his brother. "He'll get back to us in a little while, Dean. Just try not to think about your tooth."

When the phone rang, Sam picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Bobby, yeah, it's Sam. ... Great. …" He got the pen and paper he'd had ready and started writing as Bobby gave him the information.

"Right. … Okay. … Thanks, Bobby. 'Preciate it. Yeah, I'll tell him." He closed the phone and put it on the nightstand. "Bobby says to hang in there and not to act like a wuss."

Dean looked hurt and angry at the same time, the way only Dean could do that. Sam relented. "No, really, he just said to get it taken care of and feel better."

"Asshole," said Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam. "Okay, let's get rolling. We're going to see a Dr. – " He looked down at the piece of paper. "Stanback. He'll be ready for us. Bobby actually called ahead to make an appointment for you."

Sam got the address and directions online and wrote them down too. "Time to go, Dean. Let's roll!" He made for the door, looking around to make sure Dean was following. Sam had no delusions about Dean's desire to go to the dentist.

Dean shuffled out the door behind Sam, lagging behind like a four-year-old. "Come on, dude. The sooner it's done, the sooner it's done, right?"

"Yeah. I s'pose," said Dean sullenly.

"How about I drive?" asked Sam, holding his hand out for the keys to the Impala. Surprisingly, and, Sam thought, probably an indication of how much pain Dean was in, he gave Sam the keys immediately, and silently got in on the passenger's side.

The car started up, and Sam drove – perfectly competently, he would have added, had Dean been paying any attention – to a medium-sized office complex. He got out of the car and waited for Dean, who took his time and then trudged slowly behind Sam up to the entrance.

The office was on the second floor, and Sam almost dragged Dean up the single flight of stairs to what turned out to be a packed waiting room. They stood in the doorway looking around for a couple of empty chairs.

A woman dressed in flowered scrubs appeared in a doorway across the room and announced, "Jenkins. Tommy Jenkins?" A woman in sweatpants and a hoodie stood up, grabbing the hand of a small boy, about six years old, with a worried expression on his face. Sam nodded over at their two vacated seats and headed over. He sat down in the one next to the wall.

Dean looked around worriedly before following him over. He shifted from foot to foot a couple of times before he sat down.

After about ten minutes, Sam heard a low moan. "What's wrong, Dean?" he asked.

"Just hurting worse," Dean said. "It's surprisingly unpleasant," he added. "Hey. Is this guy a kids' dentist? 'Cause I ain't a kid, Sam."

Sam didn't bother to answer. There seemed to be plenty of adults in there without kids.

After another twenty minutes, Sam could see Dean was definitely getting restive. And worse, a number of parents with anxious-looking children were beginning to give the brothers dirty looks, like they'd worked their butts off getting their offspring to accept coming to the dentist and he and Dean were screwing it up for them.

Which they probably were, he admitted.

Ten minutes after that, Sam was beginning to get a little concerned that if they didn't get this show on the road pretty soon, Dean was going to just freak out and split. Thankfully, it was right then that the same woman from before came out and announced, "Dean Chester?"

"That's you, man," said Sam, punching Dean on the arm.

"Yeah, okay, okay," Dean said, standing up slowly. Sam watched Dean follow the hygienist out of the waiting room.

About ten minutes later, Dean erupted back into the waiting room, looking like a shtriga was after him. Sam jumped up and grabbed Dean's shoulder just as he reached the door leading out of the office.

"What's up, Dean?" he asked. "You couldn't have had time to do anything yet!"

Dean said nothing. He just stood there, looking haunted.

Sam patted his shoulder and took a deep breath. "Look," he said evenly. "Just wait here. Sit down. I'm going to talk to the dentist. Just … don't go anywhere, okay?"

Dean nodded and sat down. Sam thought this was an awful lot of silence from Dean. He went on into the exam room area and called out quietly, "Dr. Stanback?"

A perturbed-looking man in a white doctor's coat emerged from a room. He said, "And you are – ?"

"I'm … ah … Sam Chester, Dean's brother. I brought him in today."

"Hmmm. He's having a rather hard time, isn't he?" asked the dentist, a mild-looking man, about 45 years of age, dark hair with a bit of grey, wearing glasses that he now took off and began to clean with a cloth. He put them on again. "Do you think he'll be finishing the appointment?"

Sam leaned back against the wall. "I don't know. What happened?"

"Um." Stanback took his glasses off and started cleaning them again. Clearly a tic, thought Sam. Great. The dentist probably had a phobia about patients with phobias.

"Yeah?" Sam prompted.

"Well, your brother seemed all right through the x-rays and the preliminary examination, right up until I prepared to give him a shot of novocaine. He turned white as a sheet, and ran out of the room." Dr. Stanback put his glasses on. "That tooth is badly cracked. He needs a crown. ASAP."

"Let me go talk to him."

"All right, Mr. Chester. I'll keep his chair open."

Sam went back out to the waiting room.

Oh, yes, thought Sam, looking around the room. There were definitely some pissed-off mothers out here. Dean looked like shit and most everyone was looking at (or carefully not looking at) the scared man holding his jaw. Sam sat down.

"Dean."

"Yeah, Sammy."

"You're gonna have to do this."

"I know. But I'm not having that needle. Jesus Christ, Sam, it was a fuckin' foot-long needle!"

"Shh. There're kids in here."

"Okay. It was _fudgin' _huge. No one's puttin' a needle that big into me. Anywhere."

"Right. How do you want to do it, then? Think you can do it without the novocaine? Just let him work on you without the painkiller?"

Dean looked up hopefully. "Can I do that? Is it allowed?"

"Some people do it that way. Some people are more afraid of the needle … I mean, the needle makes some people more _uncomfortable_ than the rest of it," Sam said diplomatically. "You want to go back in and give it a try? I know that tooth is killing you." He knew he was beginning to sound wheedling, and didn't much like it himself. But Dean had done it often enough, to get Sam to do something he hadn't wanted to do, when they were kids.

"Right," said Dean. "I'll do that then." Manfully, he stood up and walked purposefully back into the corridor toward the exam rooms.

Relieved, Sam sat back in his chair. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and composed his face to look around the room apologetically. He gave everyone who would meet his gaze a rueful look, sometimes compounding it with a wry look. After a few minutes, the room had calmed down, and Sam could feel the other patients (and their moms) forgiving them.

And then – shit, not again, thought Sam – Dean tottered back into the waiting room. Sam assessed him thoughtfully. Yeah, he did look white as a sheet, kind of interesting how someone that tanned could look that pale… what did that mean for the melanin …

"Sam." Dean's voice was even more hoarse this time. Like it had been scraped off the bottom of a shoe. "Sam! I don't think I can do this."

"Dean, it's just some dental work. Everyone does it!"

"No, man. He … he had a big … _fudgin' drill_ … it was goin' 'round and 'round and 'round and … whining … 'n…" Dean came to a halt and dropped back into his waiting room chair. "It was _terrifying_."

Sam didn't even want to be here any more. This was ridiculous.

"Dean," Sam whispered, hoping no one but his brother could hear him. "You've freaking killed djinni, witches, wendigos … Those things are a _thousand times_ scarier and more dangerous than the damn _dentist!" _A murmer from the audience alerted Sam to his rising decibel level.

"But, Sam … "

"Dean, you've gotta do this," Sam hissed. "You can't wimp out on something this little that could do you so much damage!"

Shoot. Sam could feel himself losing it.

"Dammit, I _told_ you to stop eating the stupid atomic … nuclear balls or whatever the hell they are, but _noooooo_, you gave me that stupid grin and kept on chewing the fudgin'" – now he was doing it too – "things. Now, you need to _man up_ and _get in there_ and _take care of business!"_

"So, what are you, _Dad_, now?" asked Dean. "Come on, Sammy, it doesn't really hurt that bad. Maybe it'll just get better by itself — _owww_!" It obviously wasn't going to get better by itself, and Dean was just as obviously getting more frantic. This had to stop.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean. A tooth isn't going to get fixed all by itself. – Wait." Sam stopped. An idea had occurred to him. " How about gas? You know, they use – what is it, laughing gas? – sometimes, for patients who have an especially difficult time …" He was being so damn delicate he couldn't believe it himself. "I'll go talk to Stanback again. Wait here, okay? Just wait here."

Sam left Dean disconsolately studying anything but the other people in the waiting room. A good thing too, thought Sam. Some of the kids were actually crying now. Even a few of the grown-up patients were looking ragged.

"Dr. Stanback?"

"Yes, Mr. Chester?" Dr. Stanback peeked out of the room into the hallway. Sam noticed the man's glasses were off. Yup. It was a tic, all right, and his was getting worse. A dreamy moment ensued in which Sam allowed himself to imagine Dean-with-his-dentist phobia coming into contact with Stanback-with-his-difficult-patient phobia and the two of them exploding, leaving Sam to go off and buy a book and a salad and enjoy them by himself.

He pulled himself back together. There was his brother, out in the waiting room, in pain – probably agony, really – trusting him to help him deal with his one phobia – well, there was flying, and heights as well, but, no matter – and here he was, thinking of himself. Talk about needing to man up. Sam was going to get this done for Dean, one way or another.

"How about gas, Dr. Stanback?"

The guy brightened and returned his glasses to his face. "All right! Let's do that, then!"

"Great," said Sam, turning to go.

"Mr. Chester?"

Sam turned back to the dentist. "Yes?"

"Would you care to … ah… be in the room while we work on your brother? I think your presence might be soothing."

Sam had a feeling what the man really meant was that maybe he could hold his brother down if it became necessary, but it didn't really matter. "Sure," he said. "We'll be back in a minute."

He went to the waiting room. There was a little kid – Sam couldn't even tell if it was a girl or a boy – standing in front of Dean looking up into his face. Dean had his "stony look" on, but Sam could see it was thawing. Dean liked kids. Sam waited a little to let the conversation play out.

"Mister? Hey, mister?"

"Yeah?" Dean said.

"Are you really scared?"

"Nah, it just hurts."

"Does it hurt that bad?"

"Mm. Yeah."

"Then don't you want the dentist to take care of it? How come you keep coming back out here?"

"'Cause. … Sorry, kid, I don't have an answer for you. Where's your mom, anyway?"

Sam looked around. Yeah, that had to be the kid's mom. She had this _shining_ look on her face. _Her_ kid had realized this didn't make sense. _Her_ kid was gonna be braver than that big, good-looking guy with the leather jacket who was cringing in the corner.

Gah. Sam couldn't take it anymore. He was mortified on Dean's behalf. "Dean."

"Yeah." Dean got up right away this time and the two of them went to find Dean's nemesis, the dental chair.

Dean stopped in the doorway of the room. He looked desperate. "'S'like 'Marathon Man,' Sam. What'm I gonna do?"

Sam said, "I'm sorry I sounded like Dad, Dean. I know everyone's got stuff they hate doing. At the risk of repeating myself repeating myself, I'm just going to remind you that you don't have any choice. You busted a tooth, and now it's got to be fixed."

"Yeah, you're right." Dean sat heavily down in the mechanical chair. He stiffened visibly when Stanback walked in. For his part, Stanback flinched when Dean moved. The hygienist, a large woman with lots of frizzy blond hair, rolled her eyes at Sam. Apparently the two of them had something in common.

Sam tried to stay out of the way as much as he could in the little room while the hygienist (Ms. Wilkins, her nametag said) fitted that little napkin-on-a-chain thing around Dean's neck. Dean sat like a stone in the dentist's chair while she got the tray ready with instruments and the gas tank and equipment prepared.

She said to Dean, "Honey, you're so lucky I am certified to use this equipment. Otherwise you might have had to wait for an anesthesiologist."

Dean swiveled in the chair. "What? An anesthesia analogist? For this? I thought this wasn't any big deal! Sam?" He turned back the other way, looking past Stanback, who shrank behind Ms. Wilkins. Ms. Wilkins was covering her eyes with a hand.

Sam thought, _Yeah, cover your eyes, Ms. Wilkins, you shouldn't have opened your big, certified mouth._

"I'm over here, Dean," Sam said, pretty certain what was on the near horizon.

"_Sammy!_ You _bastard!_ You made it sound like this was no big thing! 'Just laughing gas' – You made it sound like Mary fudgin' Poppins or somethin' …. Ah fuck it, I'm getting outta here." Dean ripped the napkin thing off and started climbing off the chair – a little difficult since the dentist had raised it about 18 inches. He got his footing, but knocked over the tray with the instruments on it. Clattering, crashing, the dentist curled into a corner, the hygienist – Sam looked again – Ms. Wilkins was actually laughing. Sam felt a grudging respect. But – whoa – Dean was getting away …

"Dean! Come back here! You –" started Sam. Dean was gone. Sam had to get after him. _"Wait! Wait right there! Don't leave that waiting room!"_ he shouted.

Sam caught up to him before he could escape and grabbed him by the arm. "Wait," said Sam. Dean tried to shake him off, but Sam kept hold. Sam caught his breath and spoke evenly. "Dean. I know this whole thing is an … a bad experience. Right?"

Dean relaxed a bit. He nodded tentatively.

Sam said, "Let's just sit down a minute." He turned to Dr. Stanback and Ms. Wilkins, the latter now looking innocently concerned. "Don't give up his chair, okay? He's going to get this work done. Today."

They nodded mutely. Everyone in the waiting room was silent, watching the drama.

Sam started to lower himself into his chair. He nodded slowly at Dean, who still looked totally spooked. But this was Sammy, and Dean followed suit, slowly sitting down as well.

Sam looked around the waiting room, trying to get across the idea that everyone else should chat among themselves. Finally they got the idea, and Sam turned to Dean.

"Now, Dean," Sam whispered, with calm and assurance. "You know we've got a fairly powerful revenant to manage in a couple days."

Dean hiccupped. "Yeah," he said in a low voice. "I know."

Sam continued, "How is it going to be if your toothache is too painful for you to concentrate? How are you going to have my back?" He felt kind of cruel, but he really had no choice.

Dean looked abashed. He said, "I get it, Sam, I really do. And I tried …" He looked up. "You know I tried. I just go berserk whenever I think about those instruments …" He shuddered. "And the sound of the drill is just … " He made a face. "You got any more ideas? 'Cause I'm listening. I really am."

"Yeah …. I think I do, Dean," Sam said, slowly. "And I'm quite sure this one will work. Wait one second." Sam went over to Ms. Wilkins and whispered to her. She nodded and left the waiting room. Returning a moment later, she handed something to Sam. Sam came back over to Dean and held out to him a sizeable clump of gauze pads.

"Put these between your upper and lower jaw," he said.

Dean frowned, but took them from Sam. He put them in his mouth. "Ikethith?" he asked.

Sam said, "Yes. Just like that. It's to protect your teeth."

Dean looked at him trustingly. Sam cringed inside. He really hated to do this, but it was clear there was absolutely no other way.

"Now what, Tham?" asked Dean.

"Sorry, Dean. This," said Sam, and delivered a swift and effective uppercut to Dean's jaw.

The whole room gasped at the sound. Dean stared at Sam silently for an instant, with a look surprisingly like approval. Then his eyes rolled up in his head, and, like an avalanche, he slithered slowly off the chair onto the floor, out cold.

Silence filled the room. Even the children were completely still. Sam stood up.

And all hell broke loose.

Women and children screamed, kids were crying. Sam leaned over and took hold of his brother under the arms. He turned around to Ms. Wilkins, the only other person in the room he could reasonably expect to be sensible, and said, "Go get that chair ready. I think you can take care of his tooth now."

As Sam dragged Dean out of the waiting room, he distinctly heard a child sob, "Mommy, I'll let the dentist look at my teeth! I promise I will! Don't let the giant get me!"

Sam sighed.

Epilogue

Thursday the revenant emerged as expected, with the full moon. Sam and Dean, oral surgery accomplished, were there and, like the well-oiled monster-hunting machine that they were when at the top of their form, they took care of it. It hadn't killed a single person this time around – unlike past decades, when upwards of twenty had sometimes been murdered by the thing – thanks to the brothers.

Friday morning came, and around 11:00 the Winchesters were packed up and ready to go. They threw their gear in the back of the car and got in, Dean aching to drive his beauty and Sam looking forward to chilling out, watching the scenery pass by. Dean reached into the backseat and pulled something out of a bag. He tossed it lightly into his mouth. "You sure you don't want one?" he asked Sam.

"What?" Sam sat up. He didn't believe it. "You're joking, right? That isn't … it's not … a – "

"Atomic fireball, Sam! Sure it is! These babies'll help me keep my eye on the road for hours!"

"But—"

"Don't splutter now, Sam. Speak English so's I can understand you," Dean said.

"Your fucking teeth, dude!"

"Good as new, now. Should last me a long, long time, Sam!"

Sam just gaped, his mouth open.

Dean threw his head back and laughed.

"Sammy," he said. "I trust you to help me get my dental work done any time."

Dean turned the key in the ignition, put his foot on the gas and they roared out of town.


End file.
